Page 42 of Silver and Lead (October Daye #19)

“Yes, ma’am,” said Bucer, sounding baffled.

Marcia walked across the kitchen to open a cupboard and produce a heavy glass mug.

She opened another cupboard and started pouring things from it into the mug.

None of the liquids were purple, but somehow combining them resulted in a mixture the color of blooming larkspur, streaked with blue and white.

It was so vivid it was difficult to look at directly.

Marcia sniffed the contents of the mug speculatively, then made a sour face and picked up a paring knife.

Before I could react, she nicked the side of her index finger and added several drops of blood to the liquid.

It shifted shades, going the deep purple of forest violets, and she nodded, walking over to put the mug in front of me.

“Drink this,” she said, in an authoritative tone that didn’t leave any real room for argument. I blinked at her and picked up the mug.

Its contents smelled like violets, those sticky-sweet candied violets that used to flavor old-fashioned hard candies.

There was a layer of chalkiness underneath, echoing the impression of old-fashioned candies, and a hint of vanilla and peppermint.

No blood at all. It should have been the strongest scent in the mixture, but I couldn’t smell a drop. I lifted my head and blinked at Marcia.

“You can’t serve the courts as a thin-blooded changeling as long as I have without learning a few tricks,” she said. “It’s all hedge magic and marshwater charms, but it does me well enough. Please drink it.”

The mug was halfway to my mouth before I thought better of it, and once I’d gone that far, it seemed only reasonable to finish the motion.

The first sip was overwhelming in its sweetness.

The second was like taking a mouthful of swamp water, murky and dense with muck and green waterweeds.

Somehow the change, unpleasant as it was, made me want to keep drinking: it was like the potion she’d mixed was a riddle, and now that I had heard its opening words, I desperately wanted to untangle the full complexity of it.

I took a third mouthful, this one filled with fruits, cherries and quinces, peaches and strawberries, rosehips and raspberries.

They formed an impenetrable wall of sweetness that I was still trying to puzzle through when I felt the mug plucked from my hands.

I swallowed, raising my head to blink at Marcia, who was standing on the other side of the table, the half-filled mug in her hands.

“That should be enough for right now,” she said. “Too much deeper and you’ll drown. Now, October, why did you leave your home and your allies to your enemies?”

I blinked. Then I blinked again, and frowned so hard that it hurt my mouth. “I… I don’t know,” I said. I turned to Quentin. He was still eating his sandwich, apparently unbothered. “Quentin, why did we leave the house?”

“I mean, technically, we never went into the house, so we couldn’t leave the house,” he said, sounding as unconcerned as he looked.

My frown deepened. “We went there, our people were there, Altair and, presumably, Harrow were there, and we just walked away. We left . Why did we do that?”

“I dunno.” He swallowed. “It just seemed like a good idea, I guess.”

My head felt light and almost fuzzy, the way it used to back before alcohol had stopped having an effect on me, on days after I’d been drinking. I slowly turned to look at Bucer, who looked away. “And why would it seem like a good idea?”

“Hey,” he said. “Hey, you can’t blame me for wanting to stay alive. I didn’t—you told me not to use my magic to force you to do anything, and I didn’t. If staying around me for too long meant that you got more open to suggestion, that’s not my fault. I can’t help it.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“He means Glastig can be intentionally convincing when they want to, but even if they’re not trying, people who spend a lot of time around them will get gradually more and more pliant,” said Marcia, sounding annoyed.

“It’s the difference between taking a hit off a joint or breathing in a room where other people are smoking.

You’ll get drugged either way. What changes is how fast, and how big of a dose you get.

I thought your control would be better by now, little goat.

Haven’t you been around long enough to learn how not to leak? ”

Bucer almost visibly bristled. “It’s better for me if I’m just a little sloppy. Keeps people from taking advantage of me.”

“But October found you tied to a bed.” Marcia handed me back the mug of purple liquid. “Here, drink a little more of this—but only a little. You need to clear your head.”

When I took another sip of the juice, it had a completely indefinable flavor, which was confusing in its own way.

I’m not a supertaster or anything, but thanks to my magic, I’m better at picking out and separating individual ingredients than most people.

This didn’t taste like anything specific.

It was just sweetness and a distant hint of something strange and spicy, like ginger or some sort of pepper.

The more I drank the more my head began to clear. I took a second sip, and swallowed. It trickled down my throat and my confusion and calm were entirely gone, replaced by a cold rage. I lowered the mug, setting it gently on the table.

“Bucer,” I said.

He actually cringed, shying away like he thought I was about to stab him with one of the knives I wasn’t carrying. He didn’t get up from the table, probably because Quentin, while still disinterested, was right there to stop him if he tried.

“I’m just trying to survive here,” Bucer whined. “You’d do the same thing in my position! I didn’t do anything wrong .”

“You used your powers to make me walk away and leave the father of my child with a woman who’d already tried to poison me,” I spat. “That’s pretty damn wrong, if you’re asking me.”

“I wasn’t?”

“Too bad. Might have gone easier for you if you had been.” I leaned closer to him. “Hey, Marcia, you want to go find something you need to sweep? Bucer and I are going to have a little conversation.”

“That sounds like a great excuse to go and borrow the Count’s phone so you can call home and warn your people before you start committing acts of unspeakable violence in my kitchen,” agreed Marcia easily. “Quentin, you want to come with me?”

“Sure,” he said, agreeably, and rose, sandwich still in hand, to follow her out of the kitchen.

Bucer and I were alone.

I turned to fully face him, very slowly. He met my eyes, barely managing not to cringe again.

Once I was sure I had his full attention, I did the only thing I could think of that would make him understand how serious I was without actually attacking him.

I smiled.